


Like I'm not made of stone.

by sigh_no_more



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:51:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3368510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigh_no_more/pseuds/sigh_no_more
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire didn't think anyone could be as sincere and actually care as much as Enjolras. One day, he's proven right, or so he thinks and he decides to call Enjolras out on it. It does not go over well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like I'm not made of stone.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my [Tumblr](http://babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com/) fic giveaway. [Donvex](http://donvex.tumblr.com/) said, "A lot of times, Enjolras says something that deeply upsets Grantaire, and then R leaves and everyone blames him and he has to go fix it, but it’s never the other way around. I’d love to see a meeting where Grantaire ends up really hurting Enjolras – who isn’t actually made of stone as they all think – maybe by telling him he doesn’t believe in him and never did, just something that should never have been said. Enjolras stops talking before dismissing the meeting and leaving and everyone glares at R and tells him to fix it."

Grantaire didn’t know why Joly and Bossuet insisted on dragging him to their student activist meeting. Sure, their friend Enjolras was kind of hypnotizing to watch. But Grantaire by nature was skeptical, and he didn’t trust charming people. It was always so disappointing when charismatic people turned out to be awful. The more you believed in them, the worse it was when the truth came out.

So Grantaire didn’t allow himself to fall under Enjolras’s spell. He was probably running a student activist group to bolster his resume before getting a cushy job at a skeevy law firm or running for public office and joining the corrupt ranks of Congress. Grantaire had met his type before. Enjolras was convincing, but Grantaire doubted very much that he actually gave a shit about his causes. Or his friends, for that matter. Whenever the Amis hung out when it wasn’t a meeting, the usually magnetic Enjolras suddenly became subdued. He sat in corners and watched everyone else having fun. It was like he didn’t want to be there. Like he was only making an obligatory appearance but would much rather be somewhere else.

But Grantaire started to become really good friends with the rest of the Amis, so he didn’t say anything about their stone-cold leader, because they seemed to universally adore Enjolras, and he didn’t want to upset them by causing drama. He just kept his distance. For the most part. He might have vocally disagreed with Enjolras at one or two of the meetings, but Enjolras could more than hold his own. It was fun, riling him up. Grantaire imagined not a lot of people before him had dared argue with the beautiful, brilliant, privileged man.

Things were bound to come to a head though, eventually. Grantaire and Enjolras both had such strong personalities that they couldn’t go on forever until they exploded. It was a Sunday when it happened. Grantaire was exhausted because he had an art gallery showing all weekend, and it hadn’t gone great. He had managed to sell a few paintings, but it wasn’t as much as he had hoped. He had to leave early too, to show up to one of the Amis’s protests.

And Enjolras wasn’t there. Enjolras wasn’t at the protest, and Grantaire had to admit, he was a little surprised. Surely Enjolras would want his image _everywhere_ associated with the protest so he could reap the publicity?

It was only when the protest went south very quickly that Grantaire understood. Enjolras was all pretty words, and no substance. He wouldn’t risk being directly associated with the protest, or risk the danger of getting hurt or arrested. Those risks were for lesser people.

Grantaire knew it all along, and yet, he was still disappointed. The disappointment only lasted for so long. Joly got hit in the head with a rock, and then Grantaire was furious.

They met in the Musain that evening, and when Grantaire stormed in, he was ready to have a word or two with the Amis’ leader. Enjolras wasn’t hard to spot. The meeting had started, and Enjolras was seated at the head of the large table.

“So we were contacted by several local papers,” Enjolras said. “I’ve already emailed them, but I think it would be good if a few of us could give statements. Courfeyrac, could you and Feuilly take lead on this?”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Grantaire cut in acidly. “Since you can’t really give a statement since you weren’t fucking there.”

Enjorlas’s bright expression faltered. “No, unfortunately-”

“Unfortunately, what? It was too dangerous? Didn’t want to get your hands dirty? That’s what these guys are for, right?” Grantaire scoffed, looking around the room at his friends, whose expressions were ranging from confused, to horrified, to slightly murderous. (He’d worry about the way Combeferre looked like he was plotting to kill him later.)

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t care enough to haul your rich white boy ass down to protest the mainstream media’s treatment of minorities? No, I imagine you didn’t. It’s a smart political move, now that I think of it. You’re planning on running for office one day, right? Can’t have the mainstream media hating you before your career’s already begun, right?”

“ _Grantaire_ ,” Courfeyrac growled.

“You pretend that you care so much, that you’re a people’s crusader, but actions speak louder than words, Enjolras. You’re no different than the assholes you all protest. I guess it’s true what they say. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

The blood drained from Enjolras’s face, and Grantaire knew he had crossed a line. They didn’t mention Enjolras’s politician father.

“Sit down,” Combeferre said. Grantaire ignored him.

“You know he actually gives a shit about what they’re protesting? Joly, who by the way isn’t here because he’s in the hospital with a concussion. Did you even notice he wasn’t here?”

“Of course I noticed.”

“Yes, of course. Can’t operate without your ranks full. Because that’s what these guys are to you, right? Soldiers in your fake little crusade for justice. You don’t care about any of them, do you.”

For once, Enjolras was rendered speechless. “I…” he trailed off, and Grantaire realized he looked close to tears. He wasn’t even a little bit sorry. It felt dizzying, to finally get all his grievances off his chest.

“Combeferre, can you take care of the rest of the meeting?” Enjolras said, shoving his agenda to him. “I have to go.”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said gently.

“I have to go,” Enjolras said, abruptly standing up, and shit. For the first time, Grantaire saw the cast that covered the lower part of Enjolras’s leg. Enjolras reached down and picked up the crutches Grantaire had also failed to notice, and hobbled out the door with impressive speed.

For a minute, after the door to the backroom slammed behind him, it was completely silent. Everyone was glaring at Grantaire, before finally Combeferre broke the silence.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” he said, his voice low and deadly. That was the first time Grantaire had ever heard him swear.

“I didn’t know-”

“What you were talking about?” Feuilly said, looking more pissed than Grantaire had seen him. “No, you didn’t.”

“For the record, Enjolras broke his leg yesterday when he fell from a ladder helping set up the protest. Because he’s an idiot and volunteered to help set up, even though it’s still snowing. He still wanted to go to the protest today, but Joly and I told him to stay at home,” Combeferre continued.

“I had to threaten to tie him up,” said Bahorel, strumming his fingers violently on the table, like he was itching to punch Grantaire in the face.

“We know Enjolras loves us,” Jehan finally piped up. “So don’t try and tell him or us about our friendship.”

Combeferre pointed a finger at Grantaire. “You will leave now. You will apologize to Enjolras. You will make this right. Until you do, I don’t want to see you.”

It was Courfeyrac who walked Grantaire to the door. “Look,” he said quietly. “I like you, Grantaire. We all do. I know Enjolras is hard to get a read on, but he’s the real deal, okay? He just hides his feelings better than most of us. Go apologize. I’ll try to stop Combeferre from killing you until then, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” was all Grantaire could say.

Courfeyrac clasped him on the shoulder. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

The walk to Enjolras’s apartment was one of the longest Grantaire had ever taken. He got lucky, coming up to the building just as someone was leaving. He didn’t think Enjolras would have buzzed otherwise.

He knocked on the door.

“I’m fine, Combeferre,” Enjolras’s muffled voice shouted.

“I’m not Combeferre.”

“I’m not really in the mood to be yelled at again. Try again tomorrow.”

“I need to talk to you.”

More silence.

“Look,” Grantaire said. “You can either let me in, or I’ll yell at you through the door.”

“I’ll call the cops.”

“No you won’t.”

The door swung open. “Fine, no I won’t. Only because I really hate the cops.”

“I know.”

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment. Enjolras’s eyes were rimmed red, his nose was pink, like he had been crying.

“Can I come in, or are we doing this in the hallway?”

Enjolras bit his lip. “I have to sit down,” he said finally, nodding at his leg.

That was probably the closest thing to an invitation Grantaire would get. Enjolras’s apartment was much messier than Grantaire had anticipated. There were books and newspapers and notebooks everywhere. There was also one of Grantaire’s paintings. One of the few he had managed to sell at the art show. The one he had painted of the back room of the Musain with all the Amis circled around the table.

“That’s mine,” he said dumbly.

Enjolras was watching him warily. “Technically, it’s mine, since I bought it. Do you want me to return it?”

“I didn’t know you went to my show. I didn’t think you even knew about it.”

“I didn’t think you would want me to come.”

Grantaire finally turned around.

“I owe you an apology.”

“It’s fine,” Enjolras mumbled.

“No, it’s really not,” Grantaire said. “I thought I had you all figured out. I thought you were just, I don’t know. Not sincere.”

“I’m not trying to be anything I’m not,” Enjolras said.

“I’m starting to see that now.” Grantaire sighed, and took a step closer. “Look, before I hung out with you guys, years and years ago, I did my fair share of activism.”

“ _You_?” Enjolras said, incredulous.

“Yes. Me. I used to care. But then I realized nothing would change. And that was mostly because the people in power have no reason to change. Anyone I thought would help eventually let me down. So I stopped believing in them. You remind me of what they pretended to be. Intelligent. Passionate. Invested in something bigger than yourself. I assumed you were faking it too, and I never gave you a chance to prove me wrong.”

For a minute, they were silent.

“Do I really act like I think my friends are just my lieutenants or something?”

“You just show you care in different ways than a lot of people,” Grantaire said finally. “They certainly don’t think you do. They yelled at me. Your friends are actually really scary when they want to be.”

“They’re your friends too,” Enjolras frowned.

“I doubt that, after tonight. They’re protective of you. They love you, and they believe in you.”

Enjolras watched him carefully. “They’ll forgive you. They love you too.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to forgive me some day?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, without a second’s hesitation. “I do. I forgive you. I know we don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean we have to hate each other, right?”

Grantaire nodded. “Listen, I’m going to order some food, because I figure you haven’t eaten yet. And if you’re amenable, maybe we could eat it together and just watch a movie or something?”

Enjolras smiled shyly. “I’d like that.”

Grantaire pulled out his phone and started looking for places to order, his mind only half there. He had to shuffle around a lot of information in his brain and try to understand Enjolras better. It was kind of terrifying to think that Enjolras was as sincere as he acted. Maybe Grantaire had finally found the exception to the rule of humanity.

“How about this place?” he showed Enjolras his phone.

“Sounds good,” Enjolras said, settling back on the couch.

Grantaire glanced sideways at him. He looked much calmer now, but Grantaire knew only too well how long words could still hurt. They were like scars that never fully went away. He had hurt Enjolras once. He promised himself then and there that he wouldn’t ever do it again.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it? I thought it was a really interesting idea, but it was so hard to actually write! (but a fun challenge) 
> 
> After a lot of deliberation, I decided to have this at the beginning of their relationship, because I honestly think once Grantaire really understood Enjorlas, this wouldn't really happen. I could see both of them hurting each other if things escalated, but if Grantaire was the only one doing the hurting, it made more sense for me as a writer to have it so he didn't know Enjolras that well. Also, I thought it would help if Grantaire went into protective mode over one of his friends, because one thing Enjolras and Grantaire have in common is how much they love their friends. :)


End file.
